


Don't say (EN)

by Bebec



Series: Devilish One-shots [6]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betaed, Challenge Response, Complete, Gen, Hurt Lucifer, It's an habit, One Shot, POV Lucifer, Pain, Translation, Were they?, not yet, thoughts, vulnerability sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 03:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20790107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bebec/pseuds/Bebec
Summary: It is to thoughts to feed speaking, speaking to dress thoughts. POV Lucifer. Oneshot.





	Don't say (EN)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Navaros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Navaros/gifts).

> (I truly it'll work this time - this is my first try to publish)  
Given your desire and frustration to read it Nav, I did my best to translate it fast. Thanks for checking it, Kay_Kat :3333
> 
> Also,  
This OS is a challenge response about - "Hold on!"  
It can't be angsty stuff, can it? XD
> 
> Enjoy!

****

**DON'T SAY**

**~**

There are some things you get used to. Time, repetition, anticipation of these things have a lot to do with this innate process of 'habituation'. According to their nature; some things will take more time, less repetition or an anticipation at first sight balanced between these first two stages to get used to it once and for all.

The Devil has gotten used to many things.

It's bound to happen, with immortality. Time, repetition, anticipation are the three faithful companions of biblical longevity. 

The longest relationship he has ever had, only to the figurative sense, and fortunately. He’d never said no to a threesome, but being infinitely stuck with the same participants... it would have been plenty enough to get bored since then, to 'get used to it', obviously. 

He’d gotten used to his role as an outcast, to his banishment, his coronation. 

He’d gotten used to see the same dark pillars, the same cobblestones under his slow steps, under the ashes that rained over and over again on his shoulders, on the jails of the damned, unanimously loud in their torments. You got used to that too, faster than other things. 

Solitude was one of the slowest habits he had ever acquired. 

But Lucifer had gotten used to it, as for the rest, as for any other thing that had one day grown in his immortal, repeated, anticipated, past and again repeated routine. 

The Devil gets used to everything. 

So, when his body gets buried under rubble and pieces of metal, Lucifer is surprised that he still hadn't gotten used to his vulnerability. This is something too usual, too present in his life not to have become accustomed to it, even more so today. He vaguely recalls the Detective's assumption that physical pain is a matter of intensity, of strength - depending on each human and their life experiences - he can't compare a simple scratch to this collapsing, for instance. 

But pain is pain, no matter how it may have been provoked. If he has gotten used to all these human scratches, he must have gotten used to all forms of pain; it's supposed to be this way. 

However, when his limbs hit the adjacent wall, when his breath is abruptly stopped by the impact, he gets used to nothing. Would it have been possible for him, Lucifer would have cried foul, but the darkness well expresses itself for him, for his already wavering consciousness. 

At least he’d gotten used to the darkness to not take offense. 

** -xXx-**

He's not getting used to this vibration. 

It is nevertheless repetitive, he foresees it more and more often, as much as 'often' can mean something in the usual darkness. 

There it goes again. 

He shudders, his cheek rubs something wet, cold. 

He's cold, he regrets the darkness; neither hot nor cold, just going alongside 'nothing'. 

This vibration goes alongside with—

One more; he startles, definitely not used to it. 

The pain follows, everywhere. Lucifer tries to breathe, he can't, he—

He tries to breathe in more air, his chest barely lifts, he's so heavy.... Too heavy to breathe. A new vibration gets lost with his erratic breath, his vivid tremors. Cold, so cold.... 

**-xXx-**

Muffled noises.

Repetitive. 

Something to get used to. 

Two or three repetitions between each vibration, next to this weight on his chest. He's breathing, a bit, enough to get used to the pressure on his lungs. The pain rises from the darkness, along his temples, provokes other vivid tremors to get the upper hand. 

Pain burns under his heavy eyelids. 

Burn. The Devil.

It seems slightly ironic to him, but—

Something's falling on his face. Something dry, irritating his still closed eyelids, somehow attached by the eyelashes to his wet cheeks. He feels a lot of things, too much to get used to one or the other. Lucifer opens one eye, just one. A lot of effort to open it of two inches, just two. 

Dust rains on his face; several times. 

He closes his eyes, unable to turn his head to avoid it. 

What happened?

**-xXx-**

Time passes, like the vibrations and muffled noises above his head; he comes in and out of the darkness, leaves and finds pain again, but without opening his eyes again, without breathing freely. The pain stays away from his right arm, up to his shoulder. It's a good thing. But the vibration repeats over and over again. 

Lucifer quickly comes to understand that it won't stop on his own. 

With his numb fingers, he gropes around the darkness. He feels another vibration under his palm; it's rectangular. 

Is it his phone?

It takes him several minutes to get it out of his pocket, two other vibrations passing in the meantime. Lucifer sketches the shape of the screen, he rubs and rubs against it, anything to stop this bloody noise. Just one, among all the others; to give him some time, back in the darkness going alongside with 'nothing'. 

"L'fer?"

He grunts his frustration; for lack of silence, he's rewarded with another noise. 

Wonderful irony.

"Luci'er? I can hear h...eathe! Dan, I hear hi—!" 

A cacophony.

"He said s...thing! My G'd! Lucifer?!"

" 'iet…"

"Lucifer? You 'ear me?"

Of course he does; it would be hard not to.

A new shower of dust ends at the corner of his lips. He coughs, blinks. Still not used to this.

_ "Hold on, Lucifer!" _

Hold on.

Hold on?

**-xXx-**

He's no more surprised by vibrations the next time he wakes up.

Lucifer knows that he's out of darkness, those that suppress pain, out of darkness that prevents him from getting used to it. It's still dark, still hard to breathe; and he still can't escape from this noise pollution. 

_ "Come on, Lucifer... Come on! 'ld on!" _

Again with this....

"Lucifer?"

His eyes are open, still two inches. 

Why not more? 

These two inches travel larger distance plunged into darkness, but brighter than those he has just left. They travel on the rock, the mass of fallen rocks that releases dust after dust on these two inches. 

"Lucifer, hey?"

While he thought that this voice was in his head, it echoes, crackles lower. Far, far away from his head. 

He looks at the pillar that keeps him on the ground, his shirt, blood, cement.

"Lucifer?"

" 'op…"

"Thank God! Lu—!"

This Asshole again. " 'o s-surprise t… prais'... b'astard for h-having… 'atted... 'evil."

"What?" 

He gulps, saliva and dust. He breathes it, tastes it, bares it on his chest, in his husky voice. He sounds as bad as the rumble above, between the rocks. He frowns. "W't'ppened?"

"Our suspect blew him'f up."

Some words are chewed, lost in cell phone interferences; he dropped it on a pile of rubble near his only free hand. It's that or the pressing darkness around his foggy mind. He stretches his fingers towards the phone that is barely visible in this uncomfortable point of view, but stops almost instantly; as soon as the pain commands him to do so. 

He'll never get used to it. 

His eyes are prey to a blinding light, to unusually oppressive darkness. Lucifer chokes, struggles beneath this concrete weight as the light cries out his name. Over and over again, until he chooses darkness. 

**-xXx-**

_ "...on, Lucifer. Don't do this to me, don't leave me like this." _

He hasn't left yet, it doesn't feel like he has.

_ "y'r the Devil, damn it!" _

Well, it's hard to refute a thousand-year-old truth.

_ "Hold on or you're gonna regret Hell, I swear!" _

Lucifer laughs, before even thinking of opening his eyes, or just trying to. He moistens his lips; dust again. Always. The taste is... it doesn't taste anything, actually. So different from the ashes, his ashes, his kingdom; this Hell he _ might _ regret. 

The ashes taste like something more, something bloody. 

"'T a promise?" 

He can barely hear himself, the dust swallows everything, even words. 

"Go—!" Chloe exclaims, still a weak sound at the tip of his cold numb fingers. "I'm so glad to hear you!'

He smiles, a few inches on his tense face. "I k-know."

_ "Dumbass…" _

"D're to i-insult… bu'ied man?" he teases her.

Bloody Hell, talking shouldn't cost him this much.

"Insult?" repeats the Detective, sounding surprised. "I didn't say anything!" 

Really?

He doesn't answer, studying the narrow surroundings. "When... get m' out of... 'ere?" he gasps. 

"We're doing our best to reach you, but— It's a whole building that fell on you." 

A silence. 

_ "I should have stayed with you," _ his partner laments later.

Lucifer shakes his head. Terrible idea; the dizziness that follows shouts it loud and clear to him. He closes his eyes, breathes as deeply as he can. "W'd n'ver… a-allowed th't, D'ctive."

"What? Lucifer?"

He's drifting again. It's a habit he'll never get used to. Just before he slips into oblivion, he notices the changing taste of the dust in his mouth. Almost as strong as the ashes, now. Those ashes that run all over his face. 

**-xXx-**

He comes out, in, comes out again.

It's an endless circle.

From its beginnings and to its ends, there's always the same sentence. A nonsensical request.

_ Hold on! Hold on! _

Hold on, hold on, hold on.... 

To what?

There's nothing, nothing to hold on to. That's the basis of the request, of its meaning, isn't it? This is all about grasping, holding on to something. Grasping, holding on to what? Him?

He doesn't do anything, though. Lucifer simply lets himself float from one darkness to another, from one dust to another. They're both cold. Both of them. He's alone. He's gotten used to it. He watches the columns and jails rise around him; appear and disappear again in the traditional darkness of his eternal solitude. The infernal place seems to last longer. 

_ Hold on. _

"There's nothing…" he whispers to one of these cold columns. 

He scrutinizes his reflection in it, blurred - appearing and disappearing as well, as everything else. That's what he has always done; appear and disappear in the eyes of the world. To its easy-going memory. Cold. The stone is cold. He rubs his fingers, cold too. 

_ Hold on... _

"There's nothing," Lucifer repeats, shaking his head, frowning.

Could this bloody void stop repeating itself? Let him stop being repeated; let him come out of this endless circle. Let him remains alone, as usual, as the world is. 

Then the void holds on to him, for lack of a hold from him. It grabs his wrist, warm when he's only cold, alone, used to it... so used to it. This heat is so little, so little that he's not even trying to escape it. He lets it be, as long as it leaves him be nothing, no more. The heat becomes a hand, thin fingers; the void becomes voice. 

A voice. 

_ "Hold on. Lucifer... Please... You have to hold on!" _

Lucifer shakes his head; confusion fogs his mind. "To what?" 

He looks at the void, at its eyes, its blond hair. Its lips brushed with tears, smiling at him. The void tightens its hold on his wrist, fades columns, jails and ashes; fades the darkness.

_ "To me." _

**-xXx-**

"He looks rather well for a guy who's been crushed like a berry."

"Because he's the Devil. He's immortal, dickhead." 

A sigh.

"Right…. Tell that to the building that collapsed on him." 

"Would you mind talking shit outside?" 

Both sigh before a very short silence. "When is he going to wake up?" 

"When you will stop jabbering above my 'rather well' face...."

"Lucifer?" 

He opens his eyes, just enough to meet the Detective's surprised expression. He smiles. Bloody Hell, it's not supposed to be painful…. 

"Well, yes Detective. Who do you think you're talking to?" he mutters, shutting his eyes. 

"A devilish douche being my partner and that scared the hell out of me?" she replies, smiling back. 

He would have laughed but doesn't dare to; his ribs would certainly not allow it. He already feels them wincing with each of his slow inhalations. He opens his eyes instead, studies his teasing partner in the morning light - or is it afternoon? - and notices the presence of other people behind her; Detective Douche and Mazikeen. That's a real 'douche'. 

"Good to see you back among the living, dude."

Living, he can't tell; but painfully back - he is, indeed. Definitely not used to this whole human side effect. "I must say that I'm as much satisfied to this ending than you are. 'Wouldn't enjoy to end elsewhere."

"Where else would you have been?" Chloe asks him. 

"Colder," he just answers. 

He's barely waking up that he already feels exhausted. He listens, stares at Mazikeen, Daniel and Chloe discussing together, including him in the conversation although he only responds with one or two incomprehensible mumbles without asking him for more. A look, a distracted listening, an awakening 'among the living'. He thinks about the other world, among death, void. Hell goes alongside with death, although death always comes first. 

Death is a circle of void. 

_ "I missed you." _

Lucifer stops watching the sunrays moving down the wall, on these sheets that cover him. He gives a tired look to the Detective, she's now alone with him. He didn't hear the others leave. She sat on the bed, just enough to touch him, not to bother him. She looks at his hand with his skin pulled out by a drip, some medical content. 

"I wasn't gone for long," he replies. 

Chloe lifts her head, staring at him. "What are you talking about?" 

He frowns. 

"You just said tha—" he starts, puzzled, before he stops talking. 

She encourages him with an arched eyebrow. 

"No, nothing. Apologies, Detective... might be the fatigue." 

She smiles, shakes her head. It reminds him of something.

_ To me. _

"Knowing that you've been out for almost three days... It sounds quite ironic." 

"Three days, hm? 'at a nap."

The words jostle in his mouth, between his painful, numb lips from exhaustion; an unusual fatigue, but far from the void, from the past cold darkness. His eyes shut, open again; never enough to keep the exhaustion at a safe distance. They open once more, once more seeing the Detective's amused, compassionate expression._ "Devil, my eye!" _

He opens an eye. 

"C'rful, Detective. Recall the Bible; 'an eye for an e…" 

His eye shuts. 

"I don't even know what you're talking about," she sighs. "You must be more exhausted than I thought." 

"I'm answer'ng y'," mutters Lucifer, convinced that he has heard her speak, being more and more surrounded by the human and medicated oblivion that goes alongside with his unusual and vulnerable condition. 

He barely hears Chloe's confused answer.

"I didn't say anything." 

**END **

**Author's Note:**

> You get it? X)  
Let me know what you think about this short text :) (I might write a sequel but in a veryyyyyyy long time)  
I translated half of 'Leap of Faith - 6' so you won't have to wait too long for that, too. ;) 
> 
> See you soon!


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